


Tact from me

by STILL_not_ginger



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, F/M, Feels, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Joanlock - Freeform, Light Angst, Male-Female Friendship, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-22 02:57:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20867084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/STILL_not_ginger/pseuds/STILL_not_ginger
Summary: Joan endeavoring to help Sherlock recover from his PCS is easier said than done sometimes.





	Tact from me

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be light-hearted and ridiculous bantering but it turned a little more angsty than I had anticipated. I hope you guys still enjoy! This is my first Elementary fic. I have not finished the show quite yet but this idea popped into my head and I couldn't resist.

“I can’t believe you right now.”, she said standing before him. And, really, it never meant anything good for him when Joan used that exasperated tone whilst pinching the bridge of her nose. It certainly spoke even less favorably of his foreseeable future that, following such an open display of utter annoyance, she shut her eyes, huffed out a sigh, and left him standing where he was to head back towards the kitchen. Alone.

He heard her slam the glass down onto the countertop as she walked past.

She seemed unwilling to let this one go, he surmised. It was all so crystal clear to him. She was waiting for a more opportune time. Trying to catch him in an unsuspecting frame of mind and reintroduce the same thread of conversation. He wouldn’t dream of letting her have the upper hand. So, naturally, he wouldn’t let it go either.

“Honestly, Watson, I have been the very personification of patience thus far and I’ve absolutely no idea why you insist on arguing instead of merely letting the matter drop!” That ought to trip her up. Vincit semper veritas and really, his actions were completely justified. He was wholly in the right.

Since the very first day Joan had stepped stiletto-heeled foot into the Brownstone, he took note of her tenacity and stubbornness and, while he didn’t dislike this about her, he was certainly very unused to having anyone challenge his assertions.

He was Sherlock Holmes. He’d been demoralizing middle-aged teachers since primary school. One ex-surgeon turned detective really shouldn’t pose such a threat to his equilibrium.

Apart for the fact that she did.

“You know what, Sherlock? I’m not going to stand here and indulge you. You are obviously arguing just for arguments sake and I don’t have the time or energy for your shenanigans right now. You want a fight? Go play with your little singlestick. I’m going to bed.”

If that wasn’t a bold-faced double entendre, then he was a monkey’s uncle. The use of the word “little” seemed to him to be particularly uncalled for, given her complete lack of expertise on the matter. Schooling his features into neutral territory he pursued her out into to the foyer.

“Watson!”, he bellowed into the high ceilings.

“Shhhhh! Do you have any idea what time it is?!”, she whisper-shouted at him. “Our neighbors have already called the cops on you this week. You heard Gregson. The next disturbance of the peace will come attached to a hefty fine, is that what you want?”

“No, what I want is for us to finish our conversation.”

“No that is not what you want because in order to have a ‘conversation’ both parties need to be allowed to speak. What you want is to lecture me about your precious independence and I don’t feel like listening!”

“I’m a grown man, Watson! A consultant for the renowned NYPD. An Ex-MI6 operative. An addict, yes, true. But I should think that the factors formerly stated should lend themselves to some small semblance of credit and outweigh the latter when regarding my ability to handle simple matters of self-care.”

“And there it is. Sherlock, you already know I don’t, not even for a second, doubt your ability to take care of yourself or do anything else you set your mind to. What I have trouble believing is that you would have the presence of mind or even the…God! I cannot believe you! Why are we even talking about this?”

“Because you think I am an incompetent invalid and it needs addressing.”, he accused.

“I offered you a green smoothie!”

“One which you were not even making for yourself!”, he tried to reason.

“I was being nice!”

“No. NO! You were pitying me, and I won’t have it, Watson. I will not accept your sympathies. My recovery from PCS will be on my own terms, if at all, and I will not be responsible for your feelings of disappointment should that time never come! My own will be more than I can manage.”

A silence stretched out into the space between them.

Joan knew that mood instability would come with the territory of his recovery. He’d made it clear that he was terrified of the very notion his recovery was an uncertainty.

Sherlock knew, somewhere deep down, that he was being unreasonable and that blaming Watson for his insecurities would only ever be to his detriment. But, knowing and admitting were two entirely separate entities that lived a world apart and only ever visited each other once in a blue moon.

“Sherlock…I meant what I said before. You won’t have to go through this alone. But, if you are always pushing me away, how do you expect me to help you?”

He took a deep breath to steady his voice, “I’m not precisely clear on the matter myself, Watson. Suffice it to say…this is all rather a learning experience for me and, as such, I will not always find the facts to be appealing.”

Her hand reached out for him and she saw him twitch, his eyes focused on some distant scuff on the floorboards. She lowered her hand back down to her side and asked, “What do you need from me?”

“I don't know about you Watson, but a smoothie would not go amiss at present.” He teetered on the tips on his toes with his fingers rapid-fire clenching and unclenching as he awaited her answer.

Joan made her best attempt at swallowing her smile. “Come try this new recipe I found.” She offered, leading him back into the kitchen.

“Does it contain Durian?” He sounded hopeful. But of course, he would, given his penchant for weird hobbies and interests.

“Not even a little bit. But, the stray cats in the alleyway definitely do, ever since I tossed it out the window earlier this morning.”

“I shall expect compensation for the loss of my planned experiments.” He had the audacity to sound offended that she had discarded his rotting-meat-scented fruit.

She put on her best smile, “Well, thank God you are already accustomed to disappointment.”

**Author's Note:**

> Leave me a little comment if you enjoyed or if you didn't enjoy. Constructive criticism is always welcome! Title taken from the lyrics of Beekeeper by Keaton Henson.


End file.
